


snow

by blackorchids



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Mush, Friendship, M/M, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:33:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackorchids/pseuds/blackorchids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis has been sulking for weeks now and Nick has no idea why. Harry says he's got LSD. Nick's not sure Harry knows what LSD is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	snow

**Author's Note:**

> also for that wintery-december thingy
> 
>  
> 
> come talk to me or prompt me on tumblr [@rosalinesbenvolio](http://www.rosalinesbenvolio.tumblr.com)!!

Nick knew—Nick fucking _knew_ that being involved with Louis was going to be no cup of tea. The fact that he's still mostly in the closet and, yet, a world-famous popstar seems trivial in comparison the the rest of the crap that came with dating Louis. Larry Stylinson, he could manage. He knows that Louis isn't fucking Harry because the blue-eyed lad is too busy fucking _him_. Elouner, he thinks, is just amusing. Eleanor's practically an angel, putting up with all of the hate she got just so her friend could stay in the closet, but Louis is so blatantly gay, Nick often finds himself wondering absentmindedly why management doesn't just give up with the whole thing. Of course, he _knows_ why, but Nick likes being difficult on occasion.

The thing with Louis though, is that he is the sort of person who can think he's worth less than the dirt beneath his over-priced Toms, but at the same time, still think he's better than anyone else. Nick really doesn't know how he does it. It doesn't make sense. How can someone hate themselves so much, yet still think they're the supreme ruler of the land?

But Nick knew that Louis was a walking, talking dictionary definition for 'oxymoron' before he ever even considered the lad as anything but Harry's irritatingly gorgeous best mate. He'd _known_ , and yet he'd still gotten involved in whatever not-dating routine they were in.

However, there really was no way Nick could've expected _this_.

"I don't know what to do, Haz," Nick groans into his phone while glancing at the doorway of the sitting room to make absolutely sure Louis wouldn't show up and hear the conversation. "He won't _get up_ , and in the rare moments he does, he's in the foulest mood you can imagine."

Harry just laughs at him, because, really, that's basically all Harry's good at. Nick doesn't even know why he still calls the younger lad for advice—all he does is _laugh, laugh, laugh_ at Louis and Nick's demented arrangement.

"Could you, I dunno, at least tell me what it is?" Nick asks, a bit more rudely than he's meant to, but Harry is like a waterproof jacket in the sense that anything mean Nick ever says to him just rolls right off. Which, Nick supposes, is a rather good trait for Harry to have, since he can be a real prat sometimes, and Harry's actually a good mate to have around.

" _Snow_." Harry finally manages in between laughs and Nick can't even understand how he's not yet choked. It really isn't as funny as Harry's finding it anyway.

"Snow.” Nick repeats, his voice so totally unimpressed that Harry's laughter actually stops. The older man pulls away from his phone for a moment, eyebrows raised, wondering if the call was just cut off.

"—forgot you didn't know, actually," Harry's saying cheerfully when Nick finally puts the thing back to his ear. "The lads and I are so used to it by now."

"Used to what?" Nick asks, his voice so fake-patient that he thinks he sounds a bit like an ace-wielding murderer.

"Oh," Harry says, the happy tone in his voice never once leaving, "Louis has this thing about snow."

*

It’s two hours after Nick told Harry that, _no_ , he doesn’t need to come over and do damage control. Nick’s vaguely offended that Harry is under the impression that he can’t manage his own not-boyfriend, but then he remembers the time when they fought over who used the last of the shampoo and didn’t speak for three days. This silence is rather different though—they weren’t fighting, per se, Louis seemed to have just _shut down_. And now that Nick knows _why_ , he is absolutely appalled.

Snow. He lets out an incredulous laugh. Fucking _snow_.

Harry’d called it Louis’ LSD and Nick had almost _died_ choking on his tea before having to explain to an oblivious Harry exactly why telling people that Louis has ‘LSD’ is not a good idea.

Regardless, he’d eventually found out that, in Harry’s world, LSD stood for Lack of Snow Depression and Louis got it around the late half of November if there wasn’t yet snow on the ground. Nick didn’t even understand it. Snow in London wasn’t a pretty thing. _Sure_ , it was nice early in the morning before anyone touched it, but it didn’t take long before it turned to a disgusting, grey, slushy mess. But Harry had insisted with an invisible crossing-of-the-heart that every single year, if there wasn’t snow on the ground, Louis got depressed until there was.

And Nick’s fine with that, really, except Louis’ been depressed for two weeks now and he really doesn’t know how to fix it. Nick’s famous for having connections _everywhere_ , but he doubts he’s got tight ties with Mother Nature.

Still, he can sort of see what Harry meant. Of _course_ Louis would be the sort to lust after the first snow of the season, it’s just like him, really. Nick is actually surprised he didn’t see it before.

“C’mon, Lou,” he says, prodding the lump in his bed none-too-gently. He doesn’t really know when Louis moved into his flat, but it’d happened almost immediately after the pair of them had started not-dating. The arrangement is unstable at best because Louis and Nick are the sort of people who can’t live with each other and can’t live without each other and Nick’s got the feeling that it will always be like that. “Louis,” Nick says more firmly when he only receives a grunt in reply. “Get _up_.” There is a cup of steaming, fresh-made tea in his hands and if his work isn’t appreciated, he’s going to dump the stuff all over his not-boyfriend—resulting shouting match be damned.

“Don’t wanna get up,” Louis mumbles piteously, rolling over and poking an eye out from his cocoon of grey blankets and sheets to stare at Nick. A slightly disbelieving look flashes through the clear blue when the younger boy catches sight of the tea. “Did you spit in it?” Louis asks properly, struggling for a minute to sit up while Nick watches, completely unwilling to help him out of the tangled mess.

“No I didn’t _spit_ in it, you twat,” Nick says imperiously, blinking as though the mere thought of him ever spitting into dear Louis’ tea is completely unfathomable. He _has_ spit into Louis’ tea before, to be completely honest, because Louis is a little bitch sometimes and Nick doesn’t like being out-bitched and he can usually handle it when it’s Louis, but sometimes it gets to be too much.

There is a brief pause and Louis looks as though he’s not going to believe him, but then he sighs and ruffles his caramel-coloured fringe and reaches out, accepting the cup with what can only be described as a _very_ reluctant look of thanks.

Nick waits until the boy is sipping until he speaks again. “I cannot believe you’re sulking because of snow.” he says.

“I am not,” Louis replies and it would actually be very believable if Nick hadn’t gotten his information from Harry who, for some reason, is practically the Encyclopedia of Louis Tomlinson.

“You _so_ are,” Nick grins, well aware that his voice is more taunting than teasing and knowing that Louis will either turn on his ‘Witty Ice Bitch’ or get so worked up that the pink flush that Nick loves so much will rise to his cheek bones and his eyes will dilate. Either one works for Nick—one just means a bit more work until he gets laid.

*

As it is, Louis’ Ice Bitch was the side that Nick got to see and the pair of them spent a good twenty minutes screaming at each other before they fell into bed and, well. Nick’s got his arm around Louis’ waist and the afterglow has worn off and Nick can feel Louis’ depression slipping back in. Louis is all but curled up into Nick and the older lad is slowly brushing feather-soft hair away from his damp forehead.

Somewhere in the flat, Nick can vaguely hear his phone going off and he’s positive it’s Harry, making sure that they haven’t killed each other yet, but he’s not too concerned about reassuring the curly-haired boy just yet. Nick knows that Louis’ eyes are closed, but he’s got a perfect view of the window in their bedroom and something outside makes his breath still for just a moment.

And then Nick is pulling away from Louis, half-heartedly shushing the younger lad’s drowsy protests and expertly dodging the pillow thrown in his direction. Nick doesn’t even watch Louis pull all of the blankets and sheets back up around him in an attempt to keep the same level of warmth.

His nose is pressed up the glass and making it even foggier than it is, and his long fingers are wiping away some of the steam and Nick can feel a smile curling at the edges of his lips.

“Louis,” Nick says leadingly and Louis grunts.

“I don’t feel like round two,” Louis says smarmily and Nick rolls his eyes.

“I doubt you’d be up to it anyway,” Nick retorts, “But that’s not what I wanted to say.”

Louis looks torn, indecision flickering in his pretty blue eyes about whether to go down the path of banter once more or whether to find out what Nick wanted to say. Finally he swallows with a bit of a grimace. “Get on with it then,” he says, as though refraining from continuing what is sure to be another fight is physically paining him.

“Come’ere for a sec,” Nick says, shooting Louis a pointed look when the lad just scoffs. It takes about two minutes and Nick is nearly sure that he’s going to have to actually _drag_ Louis out of bed, but, finally, the brat moves, taking all of the bedding with him.

“ _What_?” Louis snaps, now completely unimpressed. Nick just grins, leaning around the smaller boy to throw open the window. “ _Shit_ , Grimshaw, are you _mad_ , it’s bloody freezing!” Louis hisses, half-leaping away from the window in surprise. Nick’s freezing too, and he wonders how long it’ll be until his family jewels shrivel up in protest, but he ignores it for a moment.

“ _Louis_ ,” Nick says again, “ _look_.”

Slowly, Louis inches forward once more, and when he’s close enough, Nick grasps his wrist and tugs him the rest of the way, keeping their fingers laced, his hand cupping Louis’. Louis watches with half-hidden curiosity as Nick leads their hands past the window sill and outside, and Nick knows exactly when Louis understands.

His blue eyes are lit up unlike anything else and Nick wonders if it would be entirely inappropriate for him to tell someone he’s not even sure he’s dating if he’s in love with them.

“Nick,” Louis says excitedly, “Nick—it’s _snowing_!”


End file.
